Broken Glass
by trifles94
Summary: Left to rebuild her life in Forks after her parents decide to relocate to Thailand, Lydia Mathson does what she does best: fakes it until she makes it. Until she's thrown headlong into the world that's been slowly flowing into her life for years. With barriers coming down and old wounds torn open, she's left unsure if she should let herself sink or swim.
1. Break

Y'all just to clarify - I'm aging up the wolf pack by a couple of years and having them phase by the beginning of the first book because this is fanfiction, dammit, and I can do what I want.

* * *

**Chapter One - Break **

* * *

_We were driving along a winding, sharply twisting road through the gorgeous Idaho mountains. A river spotted with white rapids roared down below us to the right. Endless trees all around us, reaching upward toward the steely gray sky. Windows down, hair blowing, music blaring. Destination: our lake. I had one hand on the wheel, the other jazz-handing around as I wriggled in my seat along with the beat, driving a bit too fast and much too confidently as we teenagers tend to do. Barely remembering our friends following along much more safely behind us. Rebecca beside me, DJing and singing at the top of her lungs, hand out the window, floating through the air. _

"_Ooooh I'm just a girl living in captivity," Her hideously off-key singing muffled now, as she bent down to retrieve the snacks she'd stashed on the floor. It slowly trailed into a mumble as she fumbled with the wrapper on ultra-sour gummy worms. _

"_Oooooh, I'm just a girl, lucky me," I continued singing, glancing over and holding out my hand for the bag, now steering with one hand and only half a mind. She dropped the bag in my hand and then turned her attention to her phone to pick our next musical masterpiece as our song wound to an end. I pulled open the gummy worms, upturned the bag into my mouth. _

"_Hey! Keep your tongue off my food!" She laughed as she pulled them away, leaving a shower of sour pixie dust to cover my shirt and gummies hanging out of my mouth._

"_Wrood," I garbled around the mouthful of gelatin, taking both hands off the wheel and brushing the dust off with one while simultaneously pulling the excess candy from my mouth. Rebecca laughed at me again as she sticks her tongue out. She stretches her arms to the sky and lets out a yell._

"_We're invincible!" She cried, candy clenched in her fist, red hair glowing despite the overcast sky. _

_And in that moment, for the first time and the last time, it was true._

_She turned on 'Break' by Three Days Grace, cranking up the volume even more. I speed up and don't even realize it. _

"_Oh my God, I forgot to tell you Hot James in my chemistry class -" she began but what she was going to say about Hot James I'll never know because that moment we rounded a blind, hairpin turn and __**he **__was there. In the middle of the lane, like he had been waiting for us. For me. I had no time to swerve, to stop, so I sped up, maybe I could kill __**him**__? Oh God, please let me kill __**him.**_ _Rebecca screamed as Adam Gontier sang 'At night I feel like a vampire". _

"_What are you doing? You're going to hit him!" She screeched, grabbing hold of the steering wheel and pulling hard to the right, toward the edge. As we missed __**him**_ _and veered toward the drop-off I turned and watched in slow-motion. One wheel dipped off the road. __**He **__had that wicked, evil smile on his face. The second wheel left the pavement. His bright red eyes glowed with the same malice that shone when we first met. The third wheel abandoned safety. __**He **__raised his hand to wave and mouthed something. _Soon_. Then we were headed down, down, down. Brakes, brakes. Nothing. Too steep, too slippery. We hit a fallen log and went spinning. And everything went black._

* * *

_When I woke everything was fuzzy. The airbag in front of me, collapsed all around my lap, a white blur. The numbers on the dashboard nothing - just a blur. I tried to gasp in air but it hurt, hurt, hurt. Steam, blurry and opaque rose beyond the shattered windshield. Front end of the car wrapped around a tree. Mighty, unbreakable, pine. I tried to turn to see Rebecca, but everything hurt. My window splintered and __**he **__was there, reaching for me. All red eyes and evil menace. Red? Rebecca's hair was red. Rebecca… __**He**_ _was reaching for me but stopped. __**He **__looked over to the passenger seat and then his eyes were black. _

_A growl and he was gone but then he was there again, next to Rebecca. She was gasping, gurgling around the blood bubbling from her mouth. Red against her pale skin. Bright red blood was gushing from her arm and then she was gone. Pulled out the window by a red eyed monster and away. The windshield broke. Outward? How? __**He**_ _must've punched it from the inside when __**he**_ _took her. Then I was alone. Alone, alone, until I heard them screaming for me as everything faded to black again. The radio was still playing._

_Break! Away from everybody._

_Break! Away from everything._

* * *

I stared at my mom in disbelief. "You can't make me do this!"'

She returned my gaze, eyes oddly blank. I've seen that look before. On others. "I'm sorry, Lydia. This is the way it has to be. Your father and I are moving to Thailand and it's really no place for you. You'll finish out your schooling with your aunt and uncle. When you graduate you can come join us."

Blindsided, heart racing, mind reeling, I turned toward my dad. "Dad! You can't be serious! I'm your _daughter_, you can't just abandon me!"

"It's better for all of us, this way." He said, eyes an unmarked canvas. Like he wasn't really there. "A change of scenery will be just what we all need. And not even _you _can get into trouble in Forks, Washington. Go start packing, the moving truck will be here by Wednesday."

"But why can't you take me with you?" I whispered, heart breaking into a million little pieces, each stinging with the pain, rejection, _betrayal. _

"Lydia, we just need to be away from you." Mom shakes her head sadly, knowingly, as if this makes sense but it doesn't.

I turn away so they don't see my tears. _If they don't need me, then I don't need them. _My mind was trying to dominate the rejection, the pain, to keep me strong. But the million quivering pieces of my heart were all I could feel. I'm up the stairs, in my room, sitting at my desk, opening my journal.

_September 12, 2004._

_My parents don't want me anymore._

* * *

September 17, 2004. 3:32 PM. The plane touches down in Seattle with a gentle thump. I might've felt relief, if I could feel anything other than the pain of watching my parents walk away without looking back after dumping me at the Boise Airport. _What did I do? _I'd racked my brain for days and nights and nothing, _nothing _could explain why my parents were abandoning their only daughter like this. Out of the blue, random, unexpected. Everything had been normal, fine, dandy and then _that. _

Numbly, I sit until the plane is mostly cleared out then I raise. Then I'm walking. Looking out the windows of the terminal at the overcast sky. Then I'm standing outside baggage claim, and staring at the revolving belts.

"Lydia." A statement. I send a glance toward my aunt and uncle. Concern, confusion, worry etched into the lines of their faces.

"I don't know why I'm here," I said, to pre-empt their questioning. Aunt Julie, resident of Forks, Washington, population 3,000, nods but she doesn't understand. I looked back toward the belt and reach for my suitcase.

_But now Forks, Washington is population 3,001._

We're in the car. Passing out of the city, into trees, trees, trees. Winding roads, overcast skies. I'm waiting for him at every turn but he's not there. And neither is Rebecca. But she wouldn't be. They found her body 10 feet from the car, thrown through the windshield because she hadn't been wearing her seatbelt. Or so they believed. And I let them believe.

The hours pass quickly. We're at a small house, framed by a neat yard and gardens set against the forest on the outskirts of town. Or what they call a town. I sit and stare at my new home, wondering where on Earth I was going to go from here.


	2. Out of the Frying Pan

**Chapter Two - Out of the Frying Pan**

* * *

September 20, 2004

I let out a melodramatic sigh as I rolled my head to the left to look at my aunt as she drove. Her hands flexed around the steering wheel but she otherwise gave no indication that she'd heard me. I closed my eyes and turned my head again, this time imagining literally any scenario that didn't involve me being driven to a new school, weeks into the new year as an honorary orphan. _Honorary orphan, _I liked that. I spent the rest of the short drive chuckling at my own creativity, having long since abandoned any attempt to talk my aunt out of enrolling me so soon. The sun was shimmering in a watery sort of way, I noticed. It would never have the strength of Idaho sunshine.

We pulled into the postage stamp sized visitor parking lot and my aunt popped out of the car. I prolonged each movement, drawing every second out as long as I could before Julie let out an irate "Let's go!" and I figured I couldn't push my luck any longer. I flung open my door and threw my backpack over my shoulder. The school grounds were empty - classes had already started for the day but I'd flown in too late on Friday to be enrolled then. Now I had to make myself even more conspicuous by coming in doubly late because I needed to be enrolled before I could actually get to class.

My aunt, ahead of me by several steps, pulled open the dark green double doors. _Too much green in this damn place,_ I thought angrily. It made Idaho look like a physical rainbow. Grays, browns, white, both brightest and deepest of blues. I followed her silently into the front office. A large, red-haired woman sat reading a shitty romance novel with wonder in her eyes. She looked up, startled, and hastily shuffled the book away from my Aunt Julie's literary snobbish eyes.

"How can I help you?" She asks sweetly, looking at us over the tops of her wire-rimmed glasses. I find myself giving her a makeover in my head. Well-fitted, structured jacket over a pretty patterned blouse would help…

"We need to get Lydia here registered. She's my niece. She's staying with me to finish out her schooling since her parents had to move to Thailand." She shoots me a glance as she says this and I looked away. _Had to, _that was a good way of putting it. They certainly made it seem like they had no other option. I clench my jaw and continue my mental makeover of Mrs. Cope. Dark, wide leg pants help to balance out the top…

"Ah, yes. We got her records from her last school," she begins. "You weren't taking anything too out of the ordinary so we should be able to get you settled right away."

Too out of the ordinary. I.e. exceptional. Well, I suppose that one was true. I'd never been particularly enamored with hitting the books figuratively although I was pretty much always ready to physically throw them against a wall. Textbooks, anyway.

Chunky necklace and bracelet to bring everything together and you'd have a decent look going, Mrs Cope.

I tune back into the conversation as Mrs. Cope hands me my schedule, a map, and a paper for all of my teachers to sign that she needed back at the end of the day. I accepted the papers and thanked her graciously (in my mind, at least) and walked out of the office.

"I'll see… maybe not," I frowned, looking around for my aunt, only to find her still in the office talking to _Shelly, _who was shaking her head with a sad frown. Her eyes shifted to me for a fraction of a second before looking back at my aunt who turned away with a wave and walked toward me, fluorescents shining on her silky black hair. _Same color as Mom's, _I can't help but think before remembering that I hate my parents now.

She wraps me up in a hug that feels like love and smells like flowers and earth and Coral by Michael Kors. I suddenly feel numb, and hug her back loosely.

"I'll see you in a few hours. Call me if you need anything, ok? If it's too much, too soon, let me know. I'll come get you." She promised.

Yeah, right. Pretty sure I can handle whatever Forks, Washington (population 3,001) throws at me. "I'll be ok," I tell her.

She stepped back and gave me a smile bathed in an emotion I can't read before leaving me alone outside of Shelly Cope's domain (you're welcome on that makeover, Shelly).

I pulled out my schedule and the map. "Right," I muttered, "Lit in room 302."

* * *

I felt like an animal in a zoo, the way everyone gawked at me. _What is it with people and staring here? Can't anyone say hi like a normal person? _I fumed as I dropped into a vacant desk at the back of the classroom, hoping to stay unnoticed in second period Algebra II.

A kind-faced girl with dark hair and eyes turned to look at me.

"Hi," she said sweetly. "I'm Angela."

"Lydia," I said distractedly, compulsively observing each person as they enter the room. They all seemed _normal_. "How's it going?"

"Oh, I'm fine. It's nice to see a new face around here. We haven't had anyone new since the Cullens started two years ago but they keep to themselves."

I shift my eyes back to her, grateful she hasn't yet pressed me on why I'm here and that she doesn't seem inclined to. But I want to pre-empt the questioning anyway.

"Yeah, I needed a change of pace, scenery, you know." I say briefly catching her eye, challenging her to challenge me. She doesn't. She just nods sympathetically. _Good God she's so nice._

She opens her mouth to say something else but were cut off by a Mr. Something-or-other starting class. Instead she gives me another kind, genuine smile and turns toward the front. I pull out my extremely detailed and organized math notebook and try to focus on anything coming out of the teacher's mouth.

"Psst,"

I ignored it.

"Hey," same voice, same persistence.

I take a deep breath and look up from 500 step equation I'm writing down and turn toward the voice. It's coming from a blond, slightly round-faced boy-next-door type. "I"m Mike, Mike Newton."

"Nice to meet you, Mike." I sigh and turn back toward the front, again trying to make sense of the numbers and letters (Greek letters! What gives, math?) on the board.

"What's your next class?"

I close my eyes, praying for patience. "History."

"Me too! I'll show you the way," he chirps. Like a bird.

I was about to send a sharp retort about the dollhouse size of this school when I remembered I should be trying to make friends with the people here. So instead I send him a polite smile and thank him and he looks like he just won the lottery.

_Great. _This one will be hard to shake. I turn back toward the front, distressed to find Mr. What's-his-name had moved onto a new problem. _Fuck._

* * *

Turned out, I also had my fourth period class, Art, with puppy-dog Mike Newton. He sat next to me a jabbered the whole time, drawing me out of my wordless artistic right-brain bubble. I glance over to his easel and see that he's only been splashing random bits of color on the canvas. He shoots me a wink.

"I call it modern art, so much easier." He looks down at my sketchbook, filled and overflowing. "Wow, you're pretty good."

"Lot of practice," I reply absently, shading in a shadow on the cheek of a man I've decided to name Bruno who was sitting chin in hand at a bar in my drawing.

Mike continues chattering away until he's cut off by the bell. He leaps up. "Thank God! I'm starving. Let's get to the cafeteria."

I get up, much more slowly and carefully roll my drawing and place it into (my) art locker, along with my lesser quality school art supplies. I kept the good stuff at home, naturally. Mike turns toward the cafeteria and looks back at me expectantly but I shake my head.

"I brought food," I say. "It's in my locker. Go ahead, I'll catch up."

He nods and continues in. I watch him meet up with a couple of other boys and Angela and two girls I vaguely recognize from maybe my history class? I turn away and head back toward my locker. As I fiddle with the lock, I catch a snippet of a conversation between two younger girls walking behind me.

"...gone _again. _I don't see how they can miss school."

"It's sunny, they're always gone when it's sunny. They go camping or something. Good family…" I lose track of what they're saying as they continue walking and shrug. With as little sunshine as there is here, I'd probably skip class on sunny days to go on a hike, too.

I open up my backpack and pull out the light lunch I'd packed. Carrots, sandwich made with home-roasted turkey, white cheddar, and whole grain mustard, _mini pack of ultra-sour gummy worms. _My heart clenched suddenly. My aunt must've stuck those in there when my back was turned. They used to be my favorite. Now they tasted like bile and regret and longing. I pull them out of my bag and throw them into the trash can, turning and walking into the cafeteria of Forks High School, home of the Spartans.

* * *

Four class periods later, the day was mercifully over.

New friends? Check.

Names of new friends? To be determined. (Angela, Mike, Girl with Brown Curly Hair, Bitchy Blonde, Hot Asian Guy, Other Hot Guy (both desperate)).

Invitation to go to the beach? Check.

Invitation accepted? Yeah, but past me often makes commitments future me is unwilling to undergo.

After finally leaving campus (I forgot to bring Shelly her slip of teacher autographs) I stretched and began my walk home, along a sidewalk that sat flush with the forest. I scowled down at the damp cement as I walked. Green and drab gray. That seemed to be all there was here. I scoffed the toe of my shoe bitterly and kept walking, ignoring the animals sounds coming from the forest. Soon, I was in front of my new house and up the walk and the stairs and through the door. I barely had time to drop my backpack on the hardwood floor before Aunt Julie was there, chiding me about putting things in their "proper" place.

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, instead opening the foyer closet and shoving it in there instead.

"How was school?" She asks, from the dining room table. She was standing over an arrangement of seed packets.

"Uh, fine. People are um… invested?" I say, unsure how to properly describe the unusual interest in me.

Aunt Julie looks up, swapping two types of flower seeds and steps back, pondering them. "Yeah, we're not used to new folk around here."

"They invited me to the beach on Saturday. It's supposed to be sunny or something." I respond, running my fingers along the back of an oak chair at the table.

"Oh? That should be fun. First Beach is beautiful. There's some nice hiking… Actually," she frowns, "I don't want you to go hiking, ok? There's been a string of animal attacks. Stay in open, populated areas please. I don't want to have to explain to your mother that you were eaten by a wolf."

"I don't think she'd care." I replied flatly, turning and heading down the short hallway to my room.

"Lydia -" Aunt Julie calls after me but I ignore her, shutting my bedroom door just slightly too loudly so maybe she'd get the hint I didn't want to talk. I turn to face my room only to groan. Having been in such a foul mood over the last few days (being abandoned will do that), I'd done no unpacking and had been leaving things wherever I dropped them on the periwinkle blue carpet. The soft, bare yellow walls were mocking me. _See? _They seemed to say. _You can't do it. You can't make your home here. _

"Shut up," I told them. This room was bigger than my old one. I could designate a corner for each one of my hobbies. It would be _neat_ and homey and uncluttered. All things my heart was desperate for. I reached for the first box and then stopped abruptly. I crossed over, dodging between boxes, to the picturesque window with a white frame, filmy white curtains, and white wooden slat blinds, and wrenched it open. Immediately, a cool breeze began drifting into the room, calming on my heated skin. I stood for a minute in front of the window, soaking in the weak sunshine and cool breeze.

Then, I turned and attacked the boxes with a vengeance. I pulled out clothes, haphazardly thrown into boxes in my anger and sorted them into piles: keeps and non-keeps. Then sorted the keeps into closet and non-closet and then began folding them neatly, oh so neatly, and placing them carefully sorted into their designated drawers. I could feel a peace coming over me. Soft, gentle, the way it always was when I was taking control of my living space, the only thing I could control it seemed. I broke down the boxes and opened my door to place them in a neat stack in the hallway. I glanced at the clock - 4:45. I'd been at it for almost two hours. I lifted my arms above my head in a stretch.

Clothes done, that left… Desk supplies, art supplies, personal mementos, and my own personal library. I frowned at the couple of six foot high stacks of book boxes. The only shelves in here were a small bookshelf, looked like it was made by my uncle, tucked into the corner by the window. I'd have to leave books for last, I decided. Maybe get Uncle Marcus to help me design and build some larger shelves to hold them.

Right, next getting my desk set up - I was interrupted in my thoughts by a soft knock on the door frame. Aunt Julie peeked her head in.

"How's it going in here?" She asked surveying the remaining boxes and my general state of dishevel.

"Fine and dandy," I mumbled, leaning down to open a box with "desk" written on it in my untidy scrawl.

"Good, good," She said distractedly. "Can I ask you to run to the store for me? I'm missing some ingredients for dinner."

I stood upright again and stretched before leaving my arm extended toward my aunt. "Sure. I need your keys." I said, wiggling my fingers.

She jerked her head to the side, indicating I should follow her and so I did, making mental notes of the things she asked me to get from the store. She fumbled through her purse for her keys and then dropped them into my hand.

"Be careful, please." She whispered.

I nodded slowly. _These animal attacks really have her worried. _

After slipping into the driver's seat, I turned on the radio to the threadbare tune of "Breakaway" by Kelly Clarkson. I immediately turned up the volume and reversed out of the driveway, heading into the mediocre town, scowling at the now overcast sky. Pulling slowly into the parking lot of the grocery store, I turned down my music and looked around, feeling eerily like I was being watched.

I scoffed to myself. _Of course _I was being watched, I was the fresh meat in the town! I leaned over to the passenger seat and grabbed a handful of reusable bags and walked quickly into the store, ignoring the sensation of eyes following my every move. When I reached the door, I looked around. There was no one nearby and all the people down the street were minding their business. I felt a cold touch at the base of my neck above my shoulder and swung around but no one was there.

"Weird," I whispered. _Probably just working myself up and imagining things, _I thought, ignoring the nagging reminder that I was never truly alone.

* * *

I didn't collapse into bed until almost midnight. Not until every box was emptied and everything properly and neatly stored away. I stared out my window, bathed in a dim moonlight, curtains fluttering in the breeze. _Should probably close that, _I thought but a yawn overtook me and I was out before I could think another word.

I had disturbing dreams of cold touches and a young girl being drowned in a pond surrounded by trees bursting with autumn colors. Drowned by an oversized wolf with gleaming red -

I was awoken suddenly, by the sounds of my alarm. I opened my eyes, not feeling any more rested than before I'd fallen asleep. I groaned and fumbled for my alarm, trying to quiet the shrill. I sat up slowly, shivering at how cold it was. I looked sleepily at the window, slightly confused that it was now all the way open. I stood up and made my way achingly slowly over to it. I pondered it briefly, wondering how it had opened up so far when I'd only left it partly open, then pulled it down with a snap and turned the lock. I glared at the drizzle of rain outside before turning to my neatly organized chest of drawers, envisioning my outfit for the day.

I headed down the hallway a short time later, occasionally jingling the bangles on my wrist for effect. I slipped into the kitchen, stopping to read a note on the counter for me.

_Lydia -_

_We both had to work early so we will see you tonight. There's food in the oven keeping warm for you. When you get home please take out the steaks and marinade them please. See you for dinner._

_Auntie Julie_

I nodded, promising myself I _definitely _would not forget to start dinner when I got home and then went to the oven to get my plate. I ate in silence, one eye on the clock to give myself time to brush my teeth before heading back to school. When I had fifteen minutes until the tardy bell, I dropped my plate in the sink, ran to the bathroom, and began my walk to school. I arrived with exactly enough to time to stop by my locker and no time for chit-chat, exactly how I'd planned. Feeling a little self-satisfied, I dropped into my seat at the back of my Lit class just as the final bell rang. There was someone new that I hadn't seen the day before - an enormous boy with short, dark curls sitting on my far left and slightly behind me. He was doodling something in his notebook and didn't look up so I paid him no mind.

I opened my textbook to a story about a woman on trial and there the pretense ended. I spent the rest of that class and two of the next three (not math, I had to pay attention or I would drown) doodling possible designs for my bookcases, paying no mind to anyone in any of my classes. I absentmindedly followed Mike Newton into the cafeteria and into line before I remembered I'd again packed a lunch. I ducked out of line, explaining myself to my new lunchmates and headed toward the cafeteria doors so I could run to my locker and get my food. Except, except…

I was still wrapped up in thoughts of bookcase design looking down instead of where I was going and ran directly into what felt like a block of solid marble. Hard enough that it legitimately _hurt. _

"Who the fuck left this wall -" I began a tirade but then realized I was staring at a pair of expensive looking shoes, framed by other sets of designer shoes and the legs that were attached. I followed the shoes to dark wash jeans (good choice) up to a black woolen sweater overtop a chiseled body, which was topped by an unnaturally pale, carved by Michelangelo perfect face and golden eyes and bronzed hair. He had instinctively reached out a hand to steady me from my bounce off of him. I stepped back and glanced at the people around him. All of them pale as bone with eyes ranging from golden to deepest black. Like they were all carved from stone. One of them was the enormous boy from my Lit class. Too attractive, too _familiar. _

A horrified voice whispered in my mind: _They're the same as __**him. **__That's not possible, it can't be possible. Their eyes aren't red but they __**feel **__the same. They have the same inherent menace. _

Suddenly, I was terrified, awash with memories of another life, a long time ago. Dazzling sunshine raining down a picturesque New England pond framed by autumn foliage. Playing on the edge of the pond - careful not to go near the water per our parents request. Making the leaves fall from trees in a shower of color and pretty swirls, Madeline giggling at my "magic", then a sparkling man with red eyes appearing from the -

"I'm sorry," I gasped, full blown panic gripping me. "I have to go." I pushed past them, the living marble statues that _were the same as __**him. **_As soon as I was passed them I all out sprinted to the other side of campus, to the gym, to the bathroom. Wholly unaware they had all turned to watch me with curious faces and that it did not go unnoticed by the student body that the Cullens had finally noticed somebody.


	3. Porcelain

**Chapter Three - Porcelain**

* * *

_(A/N) Ok, so I know some of the songs I'm putting in here came out after 2004 but were just gonna pretend they fit into the timeline because they deliver a message that I like. Also I'm slipping in all kinds of references to various pop culture phenomena in this and I'm just waiting for you guys to catch on (AND COMMENT. COUGH.) _

_P.S. I finally started getting caught up on the third season of Santa Clarita Diet and you guys I. Am. Dying. It is so funny. Please watch it. Anyway, here's Wonderwall._

_P.P.S. I still haven't decided who I'm going to pair her with yet (Jacob/Paul) so I'm not gonna have her interact with either of them until I figure it out. (your input is welcomed) (/end A/N)_

* * *

I stumbled into the gym bathroom, stopping in front of the sink so fast I nearly crashed into the mirror. Adrenaline and anxiety coursed through my veins so powerfully they were making me sick - no, wait. I actually _was _going to puke. I flung open the door to the roomy handicap stall and threw up into the toilet before sliding down onto my ass, back against the cool tile.

I could feel my heart threatening to burst with how fast it was beating, my breathing heavy. I bent my knees up to my chest and dropped my head to rest on my hands, exhaling slowly for longer than I thought was possible, a feat I probably would've been proud of under other circumstances.

My mind was still spinning, reeling, twisting this way and that trying to make sense of what had just happened. But I could focus only on one thing: _there's more than one of __**him. **_Yet even now, reason was trying to take root in the rocky soil that was my erratic mind. _Of course _there was only one of him, he was human after all. (Humans don't have red eyes that turn black around blood.) He was just a unique kind of evil person, fixated on me for a terrible mistake I made, too young to realize the consequences of my gift. I understand them know, all too well. (People I love tend to die.) It wasn't possible for others to be like him because there was no one like him. (Would they pull an injured girl through a car window? I wondered.)

_At night, at night, at night I feel... _A fragment of a lyric floated through my mind disjointed and out of tune. I leaned my head back against the tile, frowning. It seemed familiar, as if from a half-forgotten dream. What were the rest of the words? I decided it wasn't important.

As I reasoned through my mental breakdown, I could feel my heartbeat steadying and slowing, my breathing becoming less like I had just sprinted for my life (I had) and relaxing to more normal levels. Abruptly, I was exhausted. I closed my eyes.

_Should I go to class? _I wondered. _I don't want to… _I broke off my thoughts abruptly. Mama didn't raise a weak-ass bitch. She raised a _strong_-ass bitch. (Mama can't even bear to be on the same continent as you).

"Well, Mom," I said aloud, wincing as my voice broke as I said her name for the first time in over a week (she's dead to me). "I'm not going to be what you think I am."

With that, I rose, sliding my back up the wall. I left the stall and made my way over to the sink and, more importantly, the mirror. Gripping the slippery porcelain tightly, I stared at my reflection. Pale, but not quite as pale as those figures in the cafeteria doorway. My cheeks were flushed, jarring against the unusual pallor. I winced at the light sheen of sweat and aggressively whipped on the cold water to splash on my face, savoring the frigid sting. I closed my eyes again, face dripping into the sink, half-afraid to look up and see a red-eyed monster staring at me in the mirror. But there was nothing, just the drab gray, white, and slate blue bathroom. I splashed more water on my face and reached for a paper towel, gently dabbing away the excess moisture, leaving a faint layer of water to further cool my skin on my way to class.

I glanced at the wall clock. 12:54. I'd spent more time in here working through my panic attack than I'd thought. I wouldn't have time to eat anything (not that I was sure I could keep it down anyway) before class. I lingered in the bathroom a moment longer, until the warning bell chimed an uncharming squeal through the building, still not entirely brave enough to leave the sanctity of my self-imposed temporary isolation.

I could hear a faint babble of voices, like a small spring suddenly roaring into a river, approaching and decided I couldn't put it off any longer. With one last glance in the mirror at the unusually pale girl staring back at me, I squared my shoulders and began my walk to fifth period Spanish.

I kept up the facade of being unaffected, despite my stomach lurching as I walked by the cafeteria doors. Maintained cool indifference as I pulled my notebooks from my locker. Wondered at how just an hour ago my head was filled with bookshelf design and not of terrifyingly pale, weird-eyed isolates. I made it up the stairs with what I hoped was a dancer's elegance but I suspect was more like drunkard's lumber and turned right toward the languages "hallway". Short. Two classrooms since Forks High School (home of the Spartans) only offered Spanish and French. I took a deep breath before entering room 212, not liking the sudden tenseness in my stomach, the feeling of imminent danger. _It's nothing. They're not like him. They're just… indoorsy? That's why they're all so pale._

I winced when I walked into the room. Señora Goff had rearranged the desks into groups of four. I was too late getting in - all the groups were full except one. There was one group only half full. The one with the bronze haired statue I'd run into and the enormous guy from my Lit class this morning. I froze, heart pounding. I frantically tried to make eye contact with any of my other classmates, willing them to be chivalrous and give up their seat to the new girl, terrified of the pale strange ones sitting in the back. None budged, but I did get several curious looks and friendly small-town smiles.

Señora Goff gestured to me from the half-empty group. "Siéntate, por favor señorita."

I nodded mutely, legs weak. Suddenly, I felt sick again. _You're fine. They're fine. Normal. They can't be the same as… _a flash of **him **seared into my mind. Bone-pale, jet-black hair, gleaming red eyes, that twisted, entitled smile. He might've been handsome if I didn't know for a fact he was a monster. The bronze haired boy recoiled and stared me down for a brief second before turning to whisper to the monstrously large boy next to him in a low, conspiratorial voice. My stomach churned unpleasantly as I dropped into the desk directly opposite the bronze haired statue. Carefully avoiding either of their creepy eyes, I placed my books on the unoccupied desk next to me, heart still pounding.

"Hola," a friendly, almost musical sounding voice intoned from across the desk. I glanced up, the huge boy was looking at me expectantly. It was he who had spoken.

"Hi." I tried to force as much finality into that word as possible.

"I'm Emmett, this ugly fellow next to me is Edward," the bronze haired statue raised a hand from his crossed arms in acknowledgement. I didn't respond and they continued to look at me expectantly.

"Lydia," I said, trying again to shut down this conversation, eyes desperately looking anywhere in the room that wasn't the two individuals sitting across from me. Anxiety bubbling through me, threatening to become a roar. I was mercifully spared from further interaction by Señora Goff starting class. Past participles or some such thing. I happily seized my notebook, eager to bury myself in vocab and verbs and conjugations, _literally anything _that would stop me from having to look at the two people directly across from me. I'm so happily ensconced in writing ornate, neat notes that I miss the first part of Señora Goff's announcement at the end of class.

"...groups for the rest of the year so get acquainted! You'll be each other's new best friends."

My face set into a mask of horror and I swallowed the bile raising in my throat.

_Please God, no._

Edmund and Eagle or whatever their names were glanced at each other, a strange knowing look in their strange eyes.

* * *

By the time the final bell rang, I was itching to be free of the confines of this school. I busted out of my last class of the day, Psychology, as fast as I could without seeming crazy. I race-walked to my lockers, threw my notebooks into my bag, and continued my quest to escape this brick encased hellhole.

Mike stopped me during my speedwalk toward the doors. "Hey! Lydia! Still down for La Push this weekend?"

"Yeah, sure," I said distractedly, willing to commit to anything that got me away from this conversation and on the road to my house faster. My eyes were scanning the people around me again. "What time?"

"We're gonna meet at my family's shop at 10," he responded eagerly. I tried not to make a face. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in the car with them. I hated confined spaces with lots of bodies.

"Um, I think I was going out to breakfast with my aunt and uncle at 9:30 so how about I just meet you guys at the beach around 11?" I said, now trying to figure out how I was going to get there without a car. _I could borrow Aunt Julie's bike…_

"That works!" Mike gave me an overly enthusiastic pat on the back and bounded off to Jessica and Emery? Energy? Epic? Eric? Eric! That was his name and I continued my beeline for the door. I burst out and into the fine mist, inhaling the damp air deeply. As I turned right and headed past the parking lot toward home I saw the two Es (Ebert and Exavier?) from my Spanish class lounging by a newer silver Volvo, chatting with the tall blondes I had seen with them at the cafeteria door, and as I watched a diminutive dark haired figure joined them. They all turned as if they could feel my gaze and watched me. My heart leapt into my throat and I swiveled forward again, desperate for the safety of home, my neat, yellow room, and solitude.

I stepped through the front door and dropped my backpack on the floor, noting with surprise my aunt wasn't immediately admonishing me to put it 'where it belongs' before I remembered she was working late tonight. I could hear my uncle groaning at the TV. Must be a sport of some sort.

As I approached the living room my uncle turned in his recliner. "Lydia! How was school?"

Terrifying, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "Fine and dandy. Nothing weird or unusual at all," I mumbled the last part to myself. "You're home early," I commented.

"Good, good. And yes, they let me go early today." Uncle Marcus said distractedly. In a matter of seconds his attention was back on the TV and I made my way to my bedroom. My stomach was still tied in knots from today's events. I gave an involuntary shudder. No matter how I tried to rationalize it, I knew deep down that the Cullens were just the same as, as… I was pulled from my thought process when I opened my door and was hit by a wall of cold air.

"What the fuck?" I shivered, pulling back on the jacket I was just shrugging off. I froze when I glanced up. _The window was open. _The window I distinctly remember slamming shut and _locking_ this morning. Suddenly, I was afraid. I turned this way and that around my room looking for something out of place, something missing, maybe something new that didn't belong but I couldn't find anything. All that I felt was a bone-penetrating chill in this normally bright room. I crossed the room and pulled the window down for the second time and turned the lock again, this time peering out into the backyard and forest beyond, half-expecting a glimpse of pale skin and a flash of red. But there was nothing. So I pulled down the blinds and drew the curtains as tightly as I could, as if that would help.

_Maybe Uncle Marcus opened it for some reason. _I decided to ask and made my way back down the hallway. He was absorbed in the television - Premier League soccer, I now realized.

My uncle looked up at me and smiled.

"Hey, did you open my window when you got home?" I asked. He looked up at me and shook his head.

"Nope. Why?"

Suddenly, I was afraid again. Heart racing, I said "Oh, it's nothing. I m-must've just forgotten to shut it this morning."

He eyed me closely before nodding slowly. "Keep it shut please. We've had all kinds of animal attacks lately." He turned back toward the TV.

I was about to open my mouth to argue that an animal wasn't likely to attack me _inside _the house when I remembered my aunt asked me to start marinating the steaks. I started rifling through cupboards and the pantry to put together a basic marinade, throwing random ingredients and spices in a bowl until I like how it smelled and then I went to get the steaks out of the fridge. There was a folded piece of paper on top of the steaks. I reached for it, thinking my aunt had maybe decided to leave instructions for some reason. Instead of my aunt's neat, straight print it was a loopy, sprawling cursive.

_My beautiful Lydia,_

_I miss you._

Suddenly, my mind was blank. Shut down against something it didn't want to comprehend. I slowly folded the note and turned and dropped in the trash. Then, thinking again, I grabbed it out of the trash, tore it into quarters, and dropped it into the recycling. I went to the sink and mechanically washed my hands, scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing, first with just my hands and then a cloth and then my nails and then with the nylon scrub pad. Pausing. Adding more soap. Scrubbing again. The water coming off my hands turned red. My hands stung where I'd scrubbed the skin off but I couldn't stop. _I feel so violated. So unclean. _But that feeling never left, no matter how much I washed. I was dimly aware of the squeak of the recliner which meant my uncle was getting up. The floorboards were creaking as he walked into the kitchen.

"Hey, Lyd, did you leave the water- oh my God, Lydia! Stop!" Then he was there pulling the scrub pad out of my hands and throwing it in the trash. He yanked my hands back under the water, washing off the blood that was already pooling over my shredded skin. He wrapped one arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him.

"Jesus Christ.. Lydia, baby, what happened? What's going on?" He asked, letting go of my hands to hug me tightly. _Like a dad, if I still had one of those._

"I need to clean them, dirty," I mumbled, only just now aware I had been crying. My hand twitched back toward the soap dispenser. He pulled my hand back and then pushed past me to the drawer of hand towels. I looked down into the stainless steel sink. Blood was mixing into the droplets of water, forming striped rivers of red flowing into the drain. Blood was already pooling on my skin again. Somewhere, deep within me, a horrified part of me wondered just how much damage I'd done. Mostly, though, I still felt unclean.

My uncle dropped several clean towels on the counter and then went to a cupboard and shoving things aside until he found the first aid kit and a box of gloves.

"I'm allergic to latex," I said, not really aware of anything but that fact seemed important. He glanced down at the box to check.

"They're vinyl, they're ok." He came over with a roll of gauze and gently wrapped my hands and fingers, applying pressure as lightly as he could.

"What are you doing?" I asked mechanically. I didn't feel in control. I wasn't here. He had come here and violated me and _**he **__hadn't even touched me._ Deep inside me, I was screaming at how much control he had.

"Trying to stop the bleeding. I need to know how bad it is. I might need to take you to the doctor," he glanced up at me, there was some emotion in his dark eyes but I was too far away to decipher it.

"The steaks," I said abruptly. Suddenly, that seemed important. I tried to pull away from my uncle's hands but he tightened his grip.

"Don't worry about that, Lydia. I'll take care of dinner." There was that look again but this time I thought I could recognize that look. _Wariness._

I looked back down at my hands. The gauze was soaked through, my uncle was frowning at it, his eyebrows creased.

"Ok," he murmured. "I'm gonna go get my jacket and wallet. Are you going to be ok right here for a minute?"

I nodded mutely. I wanted to keep scrubbing but then he might think I was crazy. _Maybe I am crazy. __**He's **__making me crazy._ Uncle Marcus was back quickly, with my jacket and his. He looked at my fingers again and winced, going over to the first aid kit and grabbing more gauze. He wrapped them carefully again, his long, dark hair falling in front of his shoulders, obscuring my view of his (wary) eyes. When he was finished I held my hands up. I couldn't see the blood through this fresh layer of gauze. My fingers were bound together, fully extended.

"Knife hands," I said to my uncle, giggling a bit. He stared at me like I'd just grown a second head.

"Let's go, Lydia."

* * *

The nurse in the emergency room was pretty. Long, dark hair, coppery skin, cheekbones that could cut glass. She greeted my uncle like he was an old friend and I had to remind myself that they probably were. She had a no-nonsense type of personality but she was kind enough. She introduced herself as Sue before getting right to work taking my vitals and then seating me on the gurney to start peeling back the gauze.

"I'm allergic to latex," I said again. She nodded, pulling on a set of gloves.

"Your uncle told me, we'll make sure to keep you safe." She begins to unwind the top layer, slightly bloodied. She 'tuts' under her breath when she gets to the second layer, now wholly soaked through. She stopped to survey me for a minute, her eyes searching for answer I'm unable to give before continuing to peel off the bloody bandages. She pulled my hands over a tray lined with an absorbent paper and containing a bowl of a bubbly liquid.

The bleeding has slowed, now, more of a slow seep than a constant stream. She directs me to soak my hands in the bubbly liquid until the doctor arrives. Sue stands up and beckons for my uncle to follow her out of the room. I can hear them speaking in low voices but can't catch what they're saying. A third voice joins in but I still can't make out what is being said. I hear the clipboard outside my room being rattled out of its holder and then a soft knock on the wall before the doctor enters. He's fairly young, light brown hair and blue eyes. He introduces himself as Dr. Ramsey.

He pulls on a pair of gloves and gently lifts one hand out of the liquid at a time to examine it.

"What happened?" He asks, turning my hand over and gently spreading my fingers to check the skin in between.

"I was washing them," I said honestly. "And I couldn't stop."

He looks up at me, sympathy in his eyes. "Ok. I'm gonna have you keep soaking them for a few more minutes while I place the order for an antibiotic cream and some other supplies to help your hands heal. It's probably gonna be difficult to write for a while so I'm going to give you a note to take to school so that you can get copies of someone else's notes or whatever the teacher decides." He stops speaking for a minute, seeming to search for what to say next.

He eventually continued. "Lydia, I'm also going to refer you to a psychiatrist in Port Angeles."

I stared at him. "I'm not crazy." I said, loudly.

"I didn't say you were crazy."

"You're sending me to a shrink."

"Lydia, I have to do everything I can to make sure you get all of the help you need and I cannot in good conscience send you away without first making sure you aren't going to hurt yourself again."

"I didn't want to hurt myself!"

"I understand," that stupid sympathetic look in his stupid blue eyes again. "But I believe the doctor in Port Angeles has a better skill set to help you learn to adjust to and live with the way your mind works, ok? Hang tight for a few minutes. I'll send Sue back to get you bandaged up and your supplies ready."

I watched him leave then immediately turned to my uncle. Before I can open my mouth, he said "Please don't fight me on this. Go for a month and we'll see how you do, ok? If you can't stand it, we'll stop the appointments."

I opened and closed my mouth several times, unable to find the words to argue with him. How could I possibly tell a psychiatrist or _anyone _about what happened to me? What haunts my life and my dreams and the darkest recesses of my mind? So I just nod and hope for the best. It's really all I can do in this moment.

Sue came back in with a tube of a cream and some supplies. She gently shows me how to rub the cream on, leaving some unabsorbed so it will soak in later, and then slip on the sterile gloves to keep the wounds clean. She beckons my uncle over and shows him how to enclose my hands in special plastic bags at night, every night until they scab over and then I should be ok.

"Come back if there are any problems," she told me. I do her the courtesy of pretending I didn't notice the meaningful look she shared with my uncle.

Soon, we're back in the car headed home. My uncle said nothing. I said nothing, just staring out the window at the trees flashing past. The sun was just starting to dip in the sky when we made it home. I trailed after my uncle as he strode to the front door, my eyes scanning everything around me.

I move automatically toward the living room and settle myself into the oversized brown leather couch. I could hear my uncle shuffling around the kitchen, getting dinner started. I reached for the remote and clicked on the TV. I shot a glance at the windows to the left of the entertainment center. Blinds up, curtains open. I stood up and walked over to them. Even over the din of the movie playing (Terminator?) I could hear wolves howling nearby. I shivered and pulled down the blinds and closed the curtains. But I still stood there, listening to the wolves. One in particular had a howl I liked. I frowned, wondering if that was normal. My uncle left the kitchen and came into the living room.

"I wouldn't worry about the wolves, if I were you." He said, misinterpreting my frown.

"Aunt Julie said there's been lots of animal attacks," I told him.

"I don't think it's the wolves," is all he says, a worried crease setting into his brow.

I sat on the couch staring at the television but mostly just listening to the howls until my aunt came home. They were close now. Probably just beyond the treeline behind our house. My uncle went to the window and peeked through the blinds, then went through the house and checked the locks on all the windows and doors. I want to tell him that it's no use, if the real monster wants to get in he can and he will. But that's not something he needs to know. My aunt bursts into the house, shutting the door with a loud thud behind her. My uncle went to the door and locked the knob, the deadbolt, and the hotel lock. I could hear him checking the windows in the front room.

"Oh, Lydia, my love." She said, wrapping me in a hug from behind. She didn't say anything else and I don't think I'd ever appreciated her more than in that moment. Just a long, loving, judgement-free hug. I placed both gloved hands on top of her arms and lean my head back onto her shoulder, savoring her warmth. Uncle Marcus came up and wrapped both of us up in his long arms. Finally, _finally _I felt something for the first time since seeing that carefully folded note on top of the steaks in the fridge.

In this moment, I felt safe. In this moment, I felt I could not be touched.

Briefly, through the haze of love in my mind I remembered a vibrant, blazing red-haired girl yelling into the air flowing through a car on a remote Idaho mountain road, yelling that we were invincible.

The wolf howl that I liked tore through the air again.


End file.
